


Legacy

by Onus_Probandi



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Freeform, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Painpainpainpain, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, also Helel is a good boy, but also sad, i make myself cry with my own issues, i only know pain, this is happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-08 10:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14692551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onus_Probandi/pseuds/Onus_Probandi
Summary: Lucifer and Sandalphon spend some time with their son, and casually fail at parenthood.(Title subject to change)





	1. Home

 Small, chubby and unwieldy hands fumble for a grip on thick, triangular crayons, shaped in such a way so they don't roll away and get the child in more mischief than he is already predestined to seek out. His eyes sparkle with the determination of an artisan as a castle of some form takes shape on the paper, thin white eyebrows scrunched together. Thick, wavy hair falls into his eyes as he leans over to inspect his work, but having no reference for what a castle looks like aside from the one he saw in the book, he deems it passable, waving the paper above his head proudly.

His father snorts from his sleep when the paper stirs up dust into his nose, rolling over and regarding him with deep crimson eyes.

What...what the hell is that? It looks like a grey blob surrounded by vaguely familiar heads staked on saplings. It reminds him too much of the labs, but Helel has never seen the inside of the Astral hellhole, so that isn't the answer.

Besides, that was rather disturbing and possibly Sandalphon's own fault for thinking that.

“Oh, um... it's a nice...um…?” He waves his hand as Helel beams at him with pride, so happy that his father praised him. Fuck, he cannot be the one to crush his son’s spirit. He only has one guess, and he wracks his brain searching for anything that would match the depiction on paper.

Now that he looks at it, though, it reminds him of Estalucia from afar, a tower in the sky, inhabited by the angels and their masters. Yet another place Helel has never been, yet another place he shouldn't know.

But the disembodied heads look oddly like himself, Lucifer and their young son. He can even make out Gabriel and the other primarchs, all with linked hands as they dance around the grey blob.

Add some fire and then it becomes more ominous.

Fuck, he's doing it again, and Helel awaits an answer.

“Ah, I give up, you're too good at abstract, what is it?”

Helel regards the picture with a certain kind of ponderance reserved for angels ten times his age and fifteen times his maturity. He's silent for a while before speaking up.

“Home.”

Ah.

Fucking shit.

He shouldn't think of that place as home, but all angels do. It's bred into their cores, innate data attached to their brains along with how to breathe and pump magic infused blood through their arteries. Sandalphon would have hoped that Lucifer would have conveniently forgotten that very disturbing urge Lucilius programmed into them, but Helel’s mere existence was an affront to Lucifer's former duty. He had to have stopped somewhere short of slapping his creator in his face.

Sandalphon tries to spin it into something more vague, mirroring something he's heard Gran or Djeeta spout before. “You mean, where we all are together? Ahah, yeah, that's so nice of you.” He gives the boy a smile, and in his innocence, he forgets his worries and smiles back.

He accepts the gift of...art? happily and pins it to the corkboard hanging from the wall.

It does liven up the room, despite the disturbing lack of torsos.


	2. Bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized I accidentally posted the draft for the last chapter ahshahahahsbdsabdfefaid damn it

“H-he-hey, no, put your clothes _back on_!” Sandalphon chased after the squealing child, who left wet footprints in his wake as he ran around the room naked and soaked in bathwater. “Helel, no, don’t do-” a loud crash sounded throughout the belly of the ship as Helel toppled a lamp with a burst of magical energy, attempting to plot his escape. “ _Fuck_.”

Lucifer poked his head out of the bathroom. “Have you captured him ye-”

“Why are you still in the tub?” Sandalphon hissed as Helel increased his revolutions, wild magic sparking from his fingers. “Help me catch him.”

“I fear that I will make the situation worse, as I am too, naked.”

Sandalphon gave a heavy groan, running a hand over his face in exacerbated suffering. “That’s great, honey,” he sung with all the poison sugar he could melt into his words. “You’re being _really_ helpful.”

Lucifer, instead of choosing to retort, slid back into the bathroom, leaving Sandalphon to capture lightning.

Helel leaped onto the bed, screaming with deranged laughter as he bounced, chanting the hellish mantra of, “No bath! No bath! _No bath_!” all while somehow avoiding his father’s nimble attempts at capture.


	3. Creator

Sometimes, and by sometimes he means often, Helel wonders where he came from.

Well, that wasn’t true. He knows _where_ he came from. He was born in a tube, much like other angels his age. He came from the swirling primordial chaos, the potential of a lifeless core dropped into a sterile vat of nutritional embryonic fluid, finely tuned for the specific growing conditions as set forth by his creator. There he was born, and there he stayed, incubating slowly...slowly…

Far too slow.

According to a ledger he read in the lab, he was supposed to awaken four hundred years ago, about ninety years after his initial fertilization.

Though, that confuses Helel. He would have been so small, smaller than what the mortals called a toddler. Why anyone would want to deal with a helpless baby confused him to no end, but that’s what his blueprints and manifest said. In the cramped and increasingly deranged looping penmanship of his creator, he struggled over words and concepts that would have made no sense to him, or perhaps any angel. He’s lost count of how many times he’s read that worn journal, often dozing off to sleep with his face pressed to its bittersweet-scented pages, the scent sometimes making him dizzy. It was oddly comforting, to think someone loved this other person so, to create him just for the purpose of loving and comforting them when his creator passed on, but love in a different way that his creator loved this poor fallen. But, Helel felt oddly empty, craving the feeling of being loved.

It was hard for them both to explain. It was an unconditional love, one that depended heavily on the fallen trapped in the depths of Pandemonium, but not the kind of love where Helel wanted to do all those things his creator talked about. It seemed both silly and intrusive, why would anyone want to run their fingers through someone’s hair? It was unsanitary and felt weird when he tried it on himself, catching on the thick waves of his white hair.

They both loved this person, but...in a different way, he decided with all the firmness he could muster.

Helel found out on the last pages that his creator loved him, wanted to see him safe and happy, wanted nothing more for him to live his life long after he had passed. He wanted him to meet the person he was made for, a missing piece that the fallen never knew he needed. He wasn’t even sure that Helel would even incubate properly, but he already loved him.

Helel’s purpose, his creator decided, was to bring solace to a grieving heart. Lucifer’s own, and his beloved, Sandalphon.

Keeping his proof of purpose close to his heart, Helel waited in the decrepit lab for any sign of this Sandalphon, clutching his only mean of comfort, as the world grew around him, as a kingdom became an empire above his head.

A lonely existence, only made meaningful by the promise of love he had to keep. He wanted to meet this person who his creator had loved more than life, to know safety in a gentle embrace, to feel the touch of the sun on his skin.

His wings, small and the epitome of useless, curled against his back, the light in them keeping him warm.

But, back to the matter.

Instead of wondering where he was made, he wonders  _why_. He can never tell, unable to decipher his own blueprints. And yes, he knows what he was made _for_ , but he never understood the  _why_.

Why would he be created to love someone who was already loved by so many, or at least his creator? Why was he left for so long in the depths of the Erste Empire, existence influenced by the slumbering primal beast of time itself?

Why didn’t his creator ever try and find him in the time between his birth and the time he spent buried?

Why did he make him so useless, so utterly flightless, so utterly pathetic and clueless?

His creator loved him, he reasoned, but maybe Helel was a mistake. Flawed and broken, just like the Sandalphon his creator loved so.

Why else would he leave him for so long? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this emotion? is this how ppl emote?

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus, can I even explain this? I just really wanted to write lil lucisan baby and after I saw some art, I couldn't help myself.


End file.
